


Make A Little Noise

by JenNova



Series: Up The Arse (Does He Take It?) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Derek Hale, Dirty Talk, Fingering, M/M, PWP, Rimming, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 17:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenNova/pseuds/JenNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So the first time Stiles got Derek on his back, worked him open and pressed inside with the long exhale of a perfect fit, he wasn't expecting the <i>sound</i>. Sure when they exchange handjobs, or blowjobs, or any other kind of orgasm, Derek can get a little vocal – sometimes even demanding in a hesitant sort of way – but the deep moans, the sharp grunts, the cursing and the constant use of Stiles' name was <i>not expected</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make A Little Noise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarieLikesToDraw (MarieLikeToDraw)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=MarieLikesToDraw+%28MarieLikeToDraw%29).



> This is a) for Marie (marielikestodraw) who had a shitty Wednesday and b) the first in a series of unrelated fics in which Derek enjoys having things in his arse.
> 
> (Those things are attached to Stiles.)

When Derek fucks Stiles it's all long strokes and intense eye contact and this almost opressive silence that weighs them both down. Derek gets this look on his face – like he never thought he'd get to do this – and it makes something inside Stiles snap open, his heart raw and tender. Derek barely makes a sound and fucks with such intensity that, to be honest, Stiles can only stand it every now and then – it's almost too much and the scars the Nematon left inside him make him think he doesn't deserve it.

So the first time Stiles got Derek on his back, worked him open and pressed inside with the long exhale of a perfect fit, he wasn't expecting the _sound_. Sure when they exchange handjobs, or blowjobs, or any other kind of orgasm, Derek can get a little vocal – sometimes even demanding in a hesitant sort of way – but the deep moans, the sharp grunts, the cursing and the constant use of Stiles' name was _not expected_.

It's scorchingly hot. Stiles ends up completely speechless every time. Doesn't want to miss a moment of Derek wanting him so much that he can barely stop talking.

Tonight Stiles had started with his mouth, got Derek's ass high in the air and licked into it relentlessly, until he was wet and sloppy with it. Got a finger inside, a smooth glide, and Derek started making short, bitten off noises that had made Stiles' cock twitch against his abdomen.

“You want more?” Stiles had asked into the base of Derek's spine, licking at the sweat gathering there.

“Fuck,” Derek had ground out. “ _Yes_.”

“Yeah, 'course you do,” Stiles had said and reached for the lube.

Stiles has spent hours making Derek come with his fingers. Derek has a huge kink for Stiles' hands that he hasn't been able to hide since the first time - when he came all over them in a few strokes – and Stiles is more than happy to oblige him, loves watching his fingers going in and out of Derek's tight hole.

“You always open up so beautifully for me,” Stiles had said, three fingers in and Derek pushing back against his hand and whining a little in the back of his throat. Stiles had to grip the base of his cock for a moment and take a few deep breaths.

“Hurry up, Stiles,” Derek had said, face buried against his forearms. “I need you.”

“Yeah, yeah you do,” Stiles had said, curling his fingers against Derek's prostate before pulling them out.

The first, slow slide into Derek is perfect every time – whether they're fucking hard and fast and 'thank God you're still alive' or slow and lazy on a weekend afternoon – and it's also the last time Stiles makes a sound when fucking him. Stiles had always wondered if werewolf healing would tighten Derek back up to never-been-fucked, in that vague way that he's always wondered a lot of shit, and he was almost disappointed to discover that it didn't. He still groans when he's all in, balls brushing against Derek's overheated skin, and bends to kiss whatever part of Derek he can.

Tonight Derek's on hands and knees, or forearms and knees to be more precise, and his hips fit so perfectly into Stiles' hands that it's hard not to believe in Scott's idea of destiny. They fit together so well, like two interlocking pieces, and Stiles will never stop being blown away by it.

“Fuck me, Stiles,” Derek says, pushing back a little. “C'mon, move.”

Stiles pulls back, just the head of his cock still held tight by Derek's ass, then pushes back in as slowly as he can. Derek makes this sound, this incredible moan that lasts for the whole stroke, and Stiles' fingers tighten on his hips. He starts slow whenever he can, likes to draw it out as long as possible, and is always, _always_ awarded by Derek's noises.

“Yeah,” Derek breathes out when Stiles starts up an easy, lazy rhythm. “That's it, Stiles. Fuck me like that. So good - _fuck_ , Stiles, fuck.”

It _should_ sound like shitty porn dialogue but it really doesn't it because what it really is is Derek losing control in the only way he knows how to. Stiles will totally martyr himself to the cause of Derek letting go if it involves getting his cock in that perfect ass as often as possible. _Jesus_.

“You feel so good,” Derek says, louder now because Stiles has shifted and the angle is deeper. “I wish you knew how good, Jesus, Stiles, you're fucking perfect.”

Stiles flushes – his sex-flushed skin going a darker red – because he still doesn't know how to take Derek's praise. From anyone else he'd roll with it but from Derek, fuck, it slides under his skin and takes root in a way Stiles can't understand. Instead he slows his thrusts and pulls Derek back onto his cock a few times instead, fingers flexing when Derek lets out a low series of moans.

“You want me to fuck myself?” Derek lifts up a little and looks over his shoulder at Stiles, his expression blown open with lust. “You'd like that, Stiles? Me fucking back onto your cock, taking what I want from you.”

Stiles licks his lips and nods, sliding his hands over Derek's ass, down his thighs, up again to pull his cheeks open as Derek starts pushing back. Watches the way Derek opens around his cock, the way Derek teases himself with slow strokes. Presses his thumbs gently to Derek's rim where it's stretched wide and listens to the choked whimpers Derek makes when he rubs there.

“Yeah, _fuck_ ,” Derek says, rolling back onto his cock over and over again – pace as steady as a metronome. “Bet you're thinking about getting your fingers in there too, stretching me out even wider. You could do it, Stiles, I'm so wet already. I'd open up for it, just fucking _take it_.”

Stiles lets out a shaky breath as Derek's ass clenches around him, thinks about what it would be like to open Derek wider and tries desperately not to come. Derek always makes a game of it, trying to get Stiles to come first, but Stiles wants to be with Derek when his orgasm strikes, loves fucking him through it until they're both shaking.

“Fuck,” Derek pushes back harder suddenly, in the way he always does when he starts thinking more about coming than fucking, and Stiles grabs his hips again, slams into him. “Yes, fuck, shit, yeah. Harder – I need it harder, want to feel you filling me. _Shit_ , Stiles, fuck.”

Harder Stiles can do, pushing down on Derek's shoulders so his face is practically buried in the sheets. He braces his hands just under Derek's ribcage and fucks into him in hard, deep rolls, rewarded by familiar grunts of pleasure. They're porny as fuck, maybe Stiles' least favourite of Derek's noises (in the same way that Barton Fink is Stiles' least favourite Coen Brothers' movie and thus more favourite than most of his favourite movies), but they mean Derek's getting close.

Derek's fingers twist into the sheets, the fabric going taut across the bed, as Stiles drives into him harder, faster – shorter strokes that hit his prostate like it's his life work. Stiles knows that on anyone else his fingers would be leaving bruises that would last for weeks but Derek just takes it, takes it beautifully, and gets louder because of it.

“There,” Derek chants under his breath. “Right there, Stiles, right there, don't stop, fuck, don't stop, don't you _ever_ fucking stop, Stiles, I will fucking -”

He cuts himself off with a broken, hitching moan as Stiles changes speed. Stiles slides one sweaty palm to the small of Derek's back to keep him pressed down and gets the other under him, reaching for Derek's cock. Derek's so hard it's got to hurt, his cock leaking and slick in a way that makes Stiles' mouth water. He strokes him slowly, counterpoint to the rhythm of his hips, and Derek dissolves into nonsensical mumbling against one of his forearms.

“Close,” Derek manages, drawing a shuddering breath. “So close, Stiles, please, I need – I need you to come – I need to feel you coming inside me – I -”

Stiles surprises himself by coming in long pulses when Derek asks him to, his hips jerking and his cock deep inside, filling Derek up. Derek squeezes down around him and comes like it's on command, silently shaking apart – because the only time Derek goes quiet when he's being fucked is when he comes, like his whole body shuts down. His come is wet and hot on Stiles' hand and Stiles keeps jerking him off until Derek whimpers slightly, sensitive.

Stiles rescues his hand just before Derek's legs collapse, taking Stiles with him, and Stiles muffles a laugh against the skin of Derek's back, kisses at the blade of his shoulder. The position they're in is awkward but Stiles has a bad case of the jelly limbs and won't be going anywhere for at least five minutes. Derek doesn't care – seems to have a thing for Stiles being draped over his back – and rubs his cheek against the sheets.

Stiles cants his hips up enough to ease his softening cock out of Derek's ass. He replaces it with his fingers, because Derek also seems to have a thing for staying filled in his post-coital phase, and makes a cut off noise when he finds Derek slick and wet from his come.

“You're amazing,” Stiles presses the words into Derek's back. “God, I love you.”

Derek makes a muffled noise – amongst which Stiles hears 'you too' – and turns his head enough that Stiles can stretch up to press a badly aimed kiss on his cheek. The stubble stings pleasantly against his lips and it feels like Derek relaxes even further underneath him.

“Five minutes,” Stiles mumbles, his eyelids feeling heavy. “I am not ending up in a wet patch again.”

Derek huffs a laugh and lifts his hips slightly, moving sideways, gasps when that changes the angle of Stiles' fingers in his ass. Five minutes and Stiles will move. Just five minutes.

(Stiles will fall asleep on top of Derek. Will wake up on clean sheets because Derek is some kind of bed-changing ninja. Will complain later that he didn't get to shower with Derek. Will get them dirty again when Derek decides to reward him for the earlier fucking with a sloppy blowjob. Everything will be perfect.)

**Author's Note:**

> Also: in my opinion Derek and Stiles have a versatile sex life that involves many positions and activities, but seeing as Stiles gets it in the butt most often in fic I figure I'll spend my time writing about the other way 'round from now on. 'Nuff said.


End file.
